


schlange

by purplesealion2



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Poetry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesealion2/pseuds/purplesealion2
Summary: I am the act. His best one.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 1





	schlange

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was 15 and I don’t know why I decided to translate it now but here it is. It is one of my favorite pieces and I will not be proud of this. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> warnings: awfully pendant. bad grammar.

He leans into me, his mouth stuck on the skin over my clavicule. Like all of me is a kiss, and what a stupid idea is that?

I am more than this. I am all of him that echos over the mountains. All of him that shakes...

I am more than the thin delicate muscle moving against the skin in my collarbone. I am more than slim fingers pressing on my hipbone, unsure. Much more than every tease. I am intense.

And even more than any obvious lie, I am faint. And rude when I sigh deeply and press my eyes closed, promising myself I will not give in. I am fake. So I fake I am not feeling every inch of my body – like a map of sex – pleasingly accepting every dainty touch.

I slip, my groans giving me away, and another leaves my lips to join the last in the thick air above us. I lean back instinticvely and he revels in the new space I offer. I run by giving in, as always.

He joins our hips slightly, the fabric of my own clothes betraying me as they run through my skin and cause me to quiver. I am shiver. How can I be the wave that runs through his spine? How can I be his shiver?

I press my lips together, with intent, as he runs his teeth through the curve of my neck. His fingers are still trembling with fear on my hips, holding me so lightly I might fall. A fear that is not his, that he takes from me. I am fear every time we touch. I am fear crashing over me like a big bang. No, no. An athomic bomb, ready to reverberate through generations. My fear explodes at once, but reconciles with my lust, and spawns through the course of all existence. I am definetely fear.

It was easy with us. No anticipation, no chase, no waste. And even after the screams, the fights, the bruises of nothing close to lust, we never fail to remember how to have one another. It was easy for him to touch me in a way that would please me, like I am a valuable slippery bead, and to kiss me as I am something to be taken by pieces. Actually, this is after. Looking me in the eyes was easier – having me consent to what was coming next with just a glaze, narrowing eyes full of lust, as if I am a sight that could make him come. I am more than coming. I am sex. All the sweat to reach it, all the joy of having it. Every thrust, every touch... hand, mouth, cock. I am the act. His best one.

Now I am his mouth trembling over my skin, moving up to breath in my ear. I am teeth closing in a perfect bite. One that holds me completely, even if just by a piece of flesh. Flesh so bland compared to his. I am everything in the world that will never ever ever compare to the imposingness of him. I am earthquake as my mind wraps itself around it: the fact that Malfoy exists.

I am my chest moving up and down with relentless strength, blaming me for what is coming next. I am my lips trembling with the realization of what is his next move. He covers my lips with his – and pretends to be afraid – and it is as if everything else was a spark. I am spark.

He vibrates as he digs his nails in my hipbones, like the fangs of a serpent. I feel poison paralyzing me. With a running thought I know this is not where the venom is. As the good serpent he is, Malfoy poisons me with his mouth, and maybe that is the reason why I can already feel my lips burn.

I instintictvely – and I am instinct – pull him by the back of his head. So he starts escalating in the touches. Once his tongue, hot and heavy, invades my mouth, his act of fear is broken. My own tongue surrenders.

I am lazing, calming, accepting.

There is no way out of this.

At last, I am this. I am my past with the serpent – and this is all I ever want to be. The touches that have me vacillating, the looks making me curl me up in pain. I want to be all the memories I hurt. All the wetness of regrets running down my cheeks.

I want to be all that feels because of him, because that is all there is.

All is Draco and I, fighting to strike once again.

“I really think you should quit...” he whispers in my mouth “pretending to be more than you really are.”

I am mad – completely manic –, I am long lost sanity. I am small pieces that yell and sigh and love. A fragment that anguishes pretending that we never parted.

**Author's Note:**

> aloopdaloop @ tumblr and twitter


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